Page 9 of Playing Dirty

Me: No need. I’ll see you guys Sunday night.

Vaughn: Can you bring back some of Carla’s homemade apple pie? Mom may have her recipe, but it’s never as good for some reason.

Torin: I second that request, actually.

Miles: I’m friends with a bunch of heathens, choosing apple over pumpkin on Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy.

My lips twitch into a smile, and I quickly make the promise to bring some of both back for the three of them—though Miles will one hundred percent hog the pumpkin all to himself—before getting ready for bed.

No matter how strange our friendship may seem from the outside, regardless of how different we all are from one another, we just…work. And I don’t think I would have survived the weird transition this past year without them.

I get a separate text from Miles—this one outside the Core Four group chat—while I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth.

Miles: You sure you’re good? I know you were worried about how it would go today.

Gratitude sends warmth through my extremities.

Miles puts on an aloof front even more convincing than Torin’s, pretending to fit the mold of the preppy, rich frat boy who takes nothing seriously, who has never known hardship. But deep down, he’s the most loyal and considerate person I know. He’d give the shirt off his back, and he always shows up.

It’s what makes him one helluva best friend—and roommate too.

I’m in the middle of texting him back as I leave the bathroom, attention locked on my phone, when I unexpectedly run smack into a wall. No, not a wall. A chest of smooth, warm skin and hard muscle. Instincthas me reaching for the first thing I can find to right my balance, which just happens to be the forearm of the person I ran directly into.

It’s only a few moments later when I realize whose skin is beneath my touch, but then my gaze lifts to find two angry, light-green eyes.

Ones belonging to mystepbrother.

He rips his arm from my hold, glaring daggers at me in the dim glow from the lamp down the hall.

“Jesus Christ. Do youmind?”

It takes me a second to gather my wits, still slightly shocked to see him at all. With the way he stormed out after dinner, I figured he’d spend the night at his Mom’s instead. Yet, here he stands before me, and in nothing but a pair of dark sweats hanging low on his hips. My pulse quickens instantly, though I’m not sure if it’s from his lack of clothing or those damn eyes slicing through me like a blade.

“My bad. I wasn’t expecting you to even be here,” I utter after putting another foot of distance between us and swallowing down my unease.

He scoffs. “Shouldn’t be much of a shock considering this is the houseIgrew up in.”

Any bit of embarrassment is gone in a second, the snarky insinuation laced in his statement instantly causing it to dissipate. And I try to bite my tongue, I really do. Getting in verbal smackdowns with the guy isn’t going to do a damn thing but make this whole situation worse for everyone involved.

But I did more than enough minding my words for the night, and my patience has depleted entirely.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His brows lift slightly, obviously not anticipating the bite in my tone, but he’s quick to recover with a sharp tongue himself. “Myproblem?Let’s see. Why don’t we start with the fact that your mom destroyed my family?”

A sharp laugh slips out, despite my better judgment, and I shake my head. “Destroyed it. Right.”

“You disagree?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I offer him a noncommittal shrug. “Just seems like an odd way to put it when, from what I’ve heard, your parents’ marriage was over long before she ever entered the picture.”

I can tell I’ve struck a nerve instantly—likely one he’s done his best to ignore, if I had to guess. And now I’ve just brought all the throbbing pain and discomfort front and center, and from the tic of his jaw and flare of his eyes, he’s not happy about it.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Right. Of course not.

Doubling down on whose fault it is that we’ve ended up here—forced to meld into some screwed-up semblance of a family—isn’t gonna get us anywhere. If I had to guess, I’d say it’d have the opposite effect, and I’m not looking to make this any harder than it’s already proven to be.